


Justice For All

by JJJunky



Category: Young Riders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kid shoots someone in the back. Will he hang for it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice For All

Justice for All  
By JJJunky

 

Disgusted, Marshal Sam Cain dropped his pen. Stretching his arms above his head, he tried to ease the cramped muscles in his shoulders. Lately, he spent more time doing paper work than he did keeping the peace. Why couldn't government officials understand that he couldn't do his job sitting behind a desk? His place was out on the street where he could act as a deterrent to any would be felons.

"How 'bout some water, Marshal?"

Sam swiveled his chair around. An uncompromising gaze rested on his prisoner. He'd arrested Jim Elliot for cattle rustling. Massaging his sore fingers, Sam almost wished he hadn't. Rising, he put his hand on the butt of his gun and crossed to the cell. Peering inside, he observed, "You don't need any water. The bucket's half full."

"It's dirty," Elliot grumbled, kicking the wooden container so hard water sloshed onto the floor. "I want some clean water."

"If you wanted a pampered life, you shouldn't have gotten caught," Sam said. Unaffected by the disappointed expression his advice elicited, he crossed to the door. Throwing it open, he breathed deeply, enjoying the late morning air. A brisk breeze whistled around him raising goosebumps on his flesh. All the signs were pointing to an early winter.

"Hey," Elliot indignantly protested, "close the door. It's cold in here."

Ignoring the complaint, Sam leaned against the jamb and let the cool breeze wash over him clearing his head. He liked his job - most of the time. He liked helping people. But, lately, he often felt he wasn't doing enough for the citizens who depended on his particular skills. 

A dust cloud rolled down the street, announcing the arrival of a wagon. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Sam watched as a team of matching bays pulled up in front of Tompkins store. Two riders, one on a beautiful paint mare and the other on a golden palomino, trotted past. At the nearest hitching post, they pulled up and dismounted. Brushing the dust from their clothes, they followed the occupants of the wagon into the store.

Sam's spirits rose. It had been almost a week since he'd found the time to see Emma. If he went over and said hello, he might be able to wrangle himself a dinner invitation. It wasn't just a good meal he craved. It was the chance for a stimulating conversation with a beautiful woman that stirred his blood.

Returning to his desk, he shoved papers and the keys to the cells into a drawer. Putting his hat on, he walked back to the door.

"Hey," Elliot protested, "ya ain't leavin' me alone?"

"Just because you're locked up, it don't mean I have ta be."

"It's borin' in here."

"You . . ."

"I know," Elliot interrupted, holding up his hand, "I shouldn't have gotten caught."

"No," Sam corrected, "you shouldn't have stolen the cattle."

A smile lighting his face, Sam closed the door softly behind him. Down the street, he saw Hickok and the Kid stumble out of the general store and gratefully drop a heavy bag of grain onto the bed of the wagon. Their hot breath steaming in the cold air, they reentered the store. Sam slowly crossed the almost deserted street. It was getting close to lunchtime. Maybe, Emma would let him treat her to a meal at the hotel. Of course, he would also have to invite the boys, but that didn't bother him. After all the times they'd backed him up, he owed them more than just a meal.

Feeling better than he had in days, he lifted one booted foot onto the wooden sidewalk in front of the general store. The other had barely joined it when he heard the loud retort of a gun. He instinctively ducked and pulled his own pistol. Cautiously approaching the store's entrance, he peered through the open door. The quick glance told him a story he couldn't believe. A man was crumpled on the floor in front of the counter, blood oozing from a hole in his back. The Kid stood a few feet behind him, his smoking gun still aimed at the spot where the stranger had stood.

***

Teaspoon Hunter leaned on his pitchfork and watched with pride and pleasure as Buck Cross handed off the mail pouch to Ike McSween. Kicking his mount into a canter, the silent boy disappeared inside a cloud of dust. They'd executed the exchange perfectly. Teaspoon couldn't have been more proud of his boys if they'd been his own kin. Their experiences together had formed a bond that was stronger than blood. They were a family and he would fight to the death for each and every one. Though, he had to admit, Cody did tend to try his patience every now and again.

Leaning his pitchfork against the barn door, Teaspoon went to meet Buck. The Indian had already dismounted and was loosening the cinch. When the dark head lifted in alarm, Teaspoon paused to listen. Though he couldn't hear what Buck heard, he felt trouble heading their way. Finally, the sound of pounding hooves reached his ears. Who could it be? He'd sent the Kid, Lou and Hickok into town to help Emma get the supplies. Had Hickok let his temper get the better of him? Again?

His answer was quickly forthcoming. Accompanied by a cloud of dust, Hickok raced onto the station. Throwing himself out of the saddle, the breathless boy gasped, "Sam's arrested the Kid for murder."

"What!" Teaspoon yelped.

"That's crazy," Buck agreed.

Hickok sadly shook his head, "I saw him do it. I watched the Kid shoot a man in the back and I still can't believe it."

"That doesn't sound like the Kid," Buck insisted.

Forcing his voice to remain calm, Teaspoon ordered, "Tell us exactly what happened, Jimmy."

"When we got to Tompkins," Hickok explained, "the Kid and I got the grain while Emma and Lou went to the counter to place the rest of the order. We'd thrown one bag in the wagon and were returning for a second when we saw this guy standing between Emma and Lou. The Kid didn't say a word. He just drew his gun and shot the guy in the back."

Of all his 'boys', Teaspoon had thought the one he could be the least concerned about was the Kid. He was caring and compassionate with a good head on his shoulders. He didn't fly off the handle as Hickok was prone to do, or act rashly like Cody. Yet, though the Kid didn't go looking for it, trouble always seemed to find him. Gently massaging his suddenly aching head, Teaspoon asked, "Where's the Kid now?"

"In jail."

"Why?" Buck indignantly demanded. "We know the Kid must've had a good reason for shooting that guy."

"Do we?" Hickok softly questioned. "All we know 'bout the Kid is he comes from Virginia."

"We know he ain't a murderer," Buck insisted.

Teaspoon held up his hands demanding peace. "We ain't gonna find answers standin' here arguin'. You boys saddle up fresh mounts. We're goin' ta town."

***

Sam hesitated before entering the hotel dining room. He'd spent the last hour trying to get the Kid to talk but to no avail. He knew Emma and Lou would be disappointed. He was too. His brief conversations with Tompkins and the hotel manager had left him with more questions than answers. Despite the mystery that surrounded the shooting, he still found it difficult to label the Kid a murderer. For the first time since he'd become a Marshal, he hated himself and his position.

Eyes followed him as he crossed to the corner table where Emma and Lou were hunched over hot cups of coffee. He kept his own gaze averted. He already knew what he'd see if he looked around. Some eyes would be hostile and accusing, others smug. Most of the town was angry at him for arresting the Kid, the others felt vindicated. These were the ones who were envious of the Pony Express riders or felt the boys only brought trouble to the quiet town. None of them seemed to care whether the Kid was guilty or innocent.

"Did you find out anythin', Sam?"

Emma's whispered inquiry sounded loud in the quiet room. Taking a seat next to the young woman, Sam stared at the elderly gentlemen sitting at the next table until they quickly looked away and resumed their conversation. Others took the hint, filling the room with noise once again. Returning his attention to his anxious companions, Sam admitted, "The Kid still hasn't said a word in his own defence."

"He ain't a killer," Lou spat at him.

"I know," Sam soothed, "but ya saw him shoot that man in the back. What else can I think right now?"

Tears pooled in the large brown eyes, "I know what I saw and I know the Kid. He ain't no killer."

Wondering what he could say that would convince the young boy that he agreed, Sam was distracted by a commotion at the door. He wasn't surprised when Teaspoon, Buck and Hickok appeared at the entrance. The diners fell silent again. Eyes full of anticipation darted between the newcomers and the marshal.

Sam loudly cleared his throat. Though muted, conversation quickly resumed as soon as the others had pulled up empty chairs. "Glad to see ya, Teaspoon."

"Wish I could say the same, Sam. Now, what's goin' on with the Kid?"

"He shot a man in the back."

"Jimmy already told me that," Teaspoon snapped in exasperation. "What I wanna know is why."

Taking one of the older man's work worn hands in both of hers, Emma revealed, "The Kid won't say. You know how closed mouth he can be."

"What he done is a hangin' offense," Teaspoon bluntly pointed out. "This ain't no time ta be keepin secrets."

"You have my permission to talk to him," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "But don't say ya ain't been warned."

"The table fell quiet. Sam's gaze rested briefly on each of his friends. He knew exactly how they felt. He was fighting the same internal battle himself. Of all the boys, he would've sworn the Kid was the least likely to get into this kind of trouble.

"If the Kid won't defend himself," Teaspoon decided, taking a sip from Emma's coffee cup. "We'll jus' have ta do it for him. What do ya know about the dead man, Sam?"

"According to the hotel register, his name was Homer Winslow. There wasn't anythin' in his effects to verify his identity. He had no money. There wasn't even enough in his pockets to pay his hotel bill. Tompkins told me he bought some new clothes yesterday, but there weren't no sign of 'em in his room. No bag either."

"Did he pay for the clothes?"

"He did. Bought a new saddle too, which has also disappeared."

Teaspoon absently traced a circle on the table with his finger. "Why would a man with no money spend what little he has on clothes and a saddle?"

"Everythin' he had that was of any value was in his pockets," Sam revealed. "And that weren't much."

"Do ya know where he came from?"

"The hotel clerk said he mentioned somethin' about Rawlins."

Rising, Teaspoon announced, "Then that's where I'm goin'."

"Ya only got five days," Sam anxiously warned. "Circuit judge'll be here on Tuesday."

"I'll ride fast," Teaspoon reassured him.

"I'll go with you," Hickok said, rising to stand next to the older man.

Sam shook his head, "You can't, Jimmy. Yer a witness."

"I'll go," Buck offered.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Teaspoon smiled gratefully at the tired young boy, "I'd be glad of the company."

"What do ya think you'll find in Rawlins, Teaspoon?" Lou wistfully inquired.

"The answers the Kid is too stubborn to provide."

Biting her lip, Lou whispered, "What if ya don't find them answers?'

"I'll find 'em," Teaspoon gently admonished. "That boy couldn't kill a man in cold blood without a good reason. It ain't in 'im."

Even though he knew Teaspoon's assessment was accurate, Sam also knew it would be almost impossible to prove.

***

Sitting on the floor in the corner of his cell, the Kid pulled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. In spite of the sun that beat warmly on his back, he shivered. He'd killed a man today. Not in his dreams, as he'd done so often in the past, but in the cold light of day. In any other circumstances, such an action would've filled him with sorrow. Right now, he felt nothing but relief. Though he could never tell anyone, his quick reaction had saved lives. Even knowing this, it hadn't been easy for him to kill. He had no qualms concerning what lay ahead. It was right that he should pay for his crime.

His only regret was the anguish he was causing. He couldn't bear to look into Lou's eyes and see her pain. But, even worse, was the internal conflict he saw raging inside of Sam. It couldn't be easy for the Marshal to put a friend in jail. Especially, knowing it would get even harder - the day he had to walk his prisoner up the steps to the gallows.

The Kid had no illusions concerning his fate. Not only had he killed, he'd done it in front of six witnesses. Emma, Lou and Jimmy would do their best to influence the Judge in his behalf. Tompkins, Wyatt and Wilkins were probably gloating. They'd never liked him or the other Pony Express riders. They would relish the opportunity to be instrumental in putting a noose around his neck.

***

Emma held her head high as she opened the door and entered Tompkins store. Despite everything that had happened, she still needed the supplies that had brought them to town. If there had been another store she could patronize, she would have done so, but amenities were limited in a town the size of Sweetwater.

As she stepped through the door, her eyes were drawn to the freshly mopped floor in front of the counter. Her steps faltered as she relived the shooting.

"Well, well, look who's back," Wyatt jeered. Leaning against the counter, he seemed oblivious to the fact that his feet were planted on the spot where a man had died only hours before.

Ignoring the bitter cowboy, Emma spoke to the shop keeper. "I'd like to finish placing my order."

"Of course, Emma," Tompkins agreed, reaching for her list.

"Folks're finally gonna see the Pony Express for what it really is," Wyatt said, talking louder than necessary. "Murderers for hire."

Emma didn't need to look around to know that everyone was watching them, waiting for her reaction. She was glad she'd left Jimmy and Lou outside. How could she defend the Kid? He'd shot a man in the back. Only those who knew him intimately knew there was a logical explanation. "Here's what I need." Emma pushed the list across the counter. "Would it be all right if I picked it up tomorrow?"

"Sure," Tompkins nodded, "I'll have it ready first thing in the mornin'."

As Emma turned to leave, Wyatt stepped in her path, "Hickok got away with murderin' that old man." His gaze shifting to Tompkins, the bitter boy asked, "How much ya wanna bet the Kid don't hang neither?'

"You don't hang an innocent man," Emma pointed out.

"Innocent!" Wyatt giggled.

Refusing to meet Emma's eyes, Wilkins backed his friend, "We all saw the Kid shoot that man in the back Miss Shannon. It don't matter what he done. A man deserves the chance ta defend hisself."

Emma knew she could never make them understand. They didn't know the Kid. He was incapable of cold-blooded murder. There was a reason for what he did. If they could just discover what it was, she was convinced that the Kid would be acquitted. Refusing to further acknowledge the vindictive young men, she addressed Tompkins, "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Yer order'll be ready," the shop keeper assured her.

Nodding acceptance, Emma brushed confidently past the other customers. She wouldn't let them see her pain.

"The Kid ain't gonna get away with what he done," Wyatt shouted after her.

Emma shivered at the malice she heard in the angry voice. She knew she shouldn't be surprised. When the Pony Express had first been organized, Wyatt had boasted that he would be the best rider on the circuit. He'd been devastated when Teaspoon hadn't hired him. Disappointment had since turned to hatred toward anyone associated with Russell, Majors and Waddell.

Without a word, Emma stepped outside. Allowing the door to swing shut behind her, she closed her eyes and sighed with relief. The encounter had left her feeling ill.

"You all right, Emma?" Jimmy's concerned voice inquired.

Opening her eyes, Emma crossed to the wagon. "Let's go, boys," she said, unable to answer Hickok's question with the honesty it deserved. She wasn't really sick, but she wouldn't be all right until the Kid was back at the station sleeping in his bunk. She refused to contemplate anything else.

***

His heart pounding in rhythm with the beating of his horse's hooves, Teaspoon's blood-shot eyes gratefully rested on the wooden buildings silhouetted against the sky. The sunset was beautiful, but he was too tired to enjoy it. After almost two days of hard riding, he and Buck had finally reached Rawlins. If they didn't find answers to their questions here, Teaspoon didn't know what to do. They didn't have time to look elsewhere. The circuit judge would be in Sweetwater day after tomorrow. Unless the Kid finally chose to defend himself, he would hang. Teaspoon knew he couldn't let that happen.

"Where should we start?" Buck asked, pulling his mount down to a walk as they approached the edge of town.

"The Sheriff," Teaspoon decided, pulling back on his reins. "Even if he doesn't know anything, he might know who we can talk to."

Rawlins was bigger and busier than Sweetwater, but they had no trouble locating the Sheriff's office. Dismounting, they tried to brush some of the dust from their clothes before entering the new brick building.

"Evenin' gents. What can I do fer ya?"

A man about Teaspoon's age rose from behind a desk to greet them. His hand rested comfortably on the butt of his gun. Teaspoon understood and approved the precaution. Keeping his own hands away from his sidearms, he explained, "I'm Teaspoon Hunter, Territorial Manager of the Pony Express and this here is one of my riders, Buck Cross."

"Them injuns botherin' yer way stations again?" the Sheriff angrily demanded, reaching for a rifle.

"No, no," Teaspoon quickly soothed, "we need to find out a few things 'bout a man who we believe recently visited your town."

"Do what I can," Sheriff Barnes agreed, lowering himself back into his chair.

His aching body protesting his every move, Teaspoon took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He wasn't surprised that Buck chose to remain standing. It was clear that the Sheriff had no love for Indians.

"What was the man's name?" Barnes asked, tilting his chair back.

"He signed the hotel register in Sweetwater under the name of Homer Winslow."

The Sheriff thought for a minute, before shaking his head, "Nope, can't say the name's familiar."

"He was a little taller than me," Buck offered, raising his hand to the approximate height of the dead man. "But, he was much stockier, with reddish blond hair that had a tendency to curl and a crooked nose."

Barnes' initial disinterest quickly disappeared. Sitting forward, he dug through a pile of wanted posters on his desk. Finding the one he was looking for, he held it up, "Is this yer man?"

Though Teaspoon had only seen Winslow after his death, he knew immediately that the face on the poster and the face of the dead man were one and the same. "That's him," he acknowledged. Taking the poster, he read the description. When he came to the reward, he gasped, "A thousand dollars, dead or alive. What is he wanted for?"

"Murder," Barnes revealed. "The man you know as Winslow called himself Wellington here in Rawlins. From what I've been able to discover, he had a different name in every town. Unfortunately, what he done never changed. I can't say I'm sorry ta hear he's dead."

Surprised by the officer's confession, Teaspoon asked, "What did he do?"

"He consorted with the devil." Barnes shuddered. "Only the devil could be so inhuman. I still have nightmares. Ya sure ya wanna know?"

Teaspoon nodded, "I'm sure. It could save a boy's life."

***

Sam glanced down the empty street. Where was Teaspoon? He couldn't stall much longer. In a few short minutes, he would have to walk the Kid across to the saloon. Inside, the judge and most of the inhabitants of the small town waited to rule on the boy's innocence or guilt.

The Kid hadn't spoken once in the five days since he'd been incarcerated. He'd barely eaten, only picking at the food Sam or Emma provided. Sam was convinced that the boy wanted to die. It was the only rational explanation for his behavior. The question was why? No one who felt so much guilt could be a cold-blooded killer.

"Time ta go, boys," he reluctantly called, backing away from the door. Handing a pair of handcuffs to his deputy, Sam stood back and drew his gun.

Barnett opened Elliott's cell and slipped a cuff on the thieve's right wrist. Holding the loose cuff, he led the rustler over to the remaining cell. Opening it, he slipped the loose cuff onto the Kid's left wrist.

During the entire operation, Sam never once took his eyes or his gun off Elliott. The rustler couldn't fail to notice.

"Whaddya worried 'bout me fer, Marshall?" Elliot protested. "I ain't a back shootin' killer."

Sam flinched at the description, but his aim didn't waver. He knew who was the more dangerous criminal and it wasn't the Kid. He also knew whose sentence would be the equivalent of a slap on the wrist and who would be sentenced to hang. He hadn't talked to Emma or her boys about what they would do if the Kid was found guilty. He didn't need too. They wouldn't let their friend hang. Sam knew he was fast enough to stop them. He also knew he wouldn't. He couldn't be the Kid's executioner. He'd hand in his badge first.

The walk to the saloon was all too short in Sam's opinion. Holstering his gun, he kept his hand on the butt as he pushed Elliott through the swinging doors. His eyes lowered, the Kid shuffled along behind.

As Sam had suspected, the room was full. Everyone in town had come to watch the trial. Anticipation shone on the eager faces. It sickened Sam. They all acted like they were at a celebration. Few seemed to understand or care that a boy's life hung in the balance.

Elliott and a small number of other minor points of business were dispatched before the Judge pounded his gavel and bellowed, "The last case on the agenda is People vs. the Kid. Are the people ready, Mr. Lawton?"

"I am, Your Honor," the lawyer nodded, half-rising from his chair.

"Then let's proceed."

The prosecutor rose and approached the bench, "As its first witness, the state calls Lou McCloud."

Her bright eyes anxiously trying to catch the Kid's, Lou reluctantly took the stand.

"Mr. McCloud," Lawton said, his hand resting on the back of Lou's chair, "would you please tell the court what happened in Tompkins General Store on the morning of October 23."

Her voice so low it was almost a whisper, Lou explained, "We went into town . . ."

"Please be more specific, Mr. McCloud," Lawton interrupted. "And speak up."

Slightly raising her voice, Lou detailed, "Me, Jimmy and the Kid went into town with Emma to get supplies."

"At Tompkins store?"

"Yes."

Moving away from his witness Lawton asked, "What happened when you arrived at the store?"

"Me an' Emma went to the counter to place the order with Mr. Tompkins, while the Kid and Jimmy went to the grain bin."

As the prosecutor pressed for more details, Sam glanced at the Kid's averted face. The boy's best friend was on the stand testifying against him, yet he seemed oblivious to it. Couldn't he see the pain his silence was causing? Who or what could make him desert his family?

"Please continue, Mr. McCloud," Lawton urged, when the young boy faltered.

"Though the rest of the counter was empty, this man . . ."

"Homer Winslow," Lawton clarified.

Lou reluctantly nodded, "Winslow pushed in between me an' Emma."

"Was he rude?"

"No," Lou hesitantly replied, "it just seemed strange that he should choose to stand between us."

Dismissing the observation, Lawson prompted, "Then what happened?"

"The Kid and Jimmy came back in the store." Tear filled eyes pleaded with the Kid for forgiveness as Lou whispered, "The Kid drew his gun and shot Winslow."

"In the back?" Lawson presented.

Taking a deep breath, Lou said, "Yes."

"Without any warning?"

Lou sadly nodded.

"I need a verbal response, Mr. McCloud," Lawson impatiently ordered.

Her voice barely audible, Lou replied, "There was no warning."

Pointing a finger at the accused, Lawson loudly proclaimed, "What you're saying is that the person you know as the Kid, cold bloodedly murdered a defenseless man."

"He wasn't defenseless," Lou protested. "He was wearing a gun."

"Where was this gun?" Lawson prodded.

"In his holster."

"Did it ever leave his holster?"

"No."

"So - o - o," Lawson said, dragging out the word to encompass the entire crowd, "Mr. Winslow was never given the opportunity to defend himself."

Lou bit her lip before reluctantly admitting, "No."

"No further questions."

The Kid's lawyer, Benjamin Taylor, half rose from his seat, "I have no questions, Your Honor."

As Lou unhappily rose from the witness stand, Sam's eyes followed her. The devastated boy barely made it back to his own chair before collapsing. Emma put a compassionate arm around the slumped shoulders, but she spoke no words of comfort, for there were none. Lou's testimony and all those that followed would condemn the Kid for the crime he'd committed. Yet, despite all that he'd heard, Sam still believed the Kid was innocent, even though all the evidence pointed to his guilt. The only support Sam had to confirm his belief was gut feelings.

Lawson faced the bench, "The people call Jake Wyatt."

"Your Honor." Teaspoon Hunter's voice rose above the babble to stop Wyatt in mid-stride. Tired and dusty, Teaspoon pushed through the crowd and approached the bar, followed closely by Buck Cross.

Voices rose making it impossible to hear what Teaspoon was trying to say.

The Judge pounded his gavel so hard the bartender winced. With each strike, he shouted, "Quiet!"

When the room finally settled down, Judge Billings sternly appraised his old friend, "What's going on Teaspoon?"

"I have evidence that will clear this entire matter," Teaspoon offered. "If we could talk to the interested parties in private?" A hand indicated the small manager's office behind the bar.

The Judge ran a finger over his mustache as he contemplated the request. Finally, he nodded consent and tapped his gavel, "Court is adjourned until after lunch."

Protests followed the group as they entered the office. Taking the chair behind the desk, Billings waited until the two lawyers were settled in the remaining chairs, before he asked, "What's this all about, Teaspoon?"

Sam pushed the Kid into a corner. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms deliberately leaving the butt of his gun accessible to his prisoner. If Teaspoon's revelations didn't do the trick, he prayed that the Kid would take the opportunity he was offering him to escape. One look at the boy was enough to crush his hope.

Teaspoon ignored the Judge's frown and waved Emma and the boys into what little space remained. "They have a right to hear the truth, Virgil," he explained in defense. "They're family."

"All right, all right," Billings impatiently agreed, "let's get on with it."

Taking a piece of paper from his coat pocket, Teaspoon unfolded it before handing it to the judge, "This is the man we know as Homer Winslow."

"It's says his name is Mike Wellington and that he's wanted for murder," Billings read. The defensive tone that had harshened his voice disappeared. "What's going on?"

Teaspoon's sad gaze rested briefly on the Kid before returning to the judge, "In Rawlins, he killed the town doctor's nineteen-year-old daughter. In Scottsbluff it was the Mayor's twelve-year-old son. In Kearney, he took the only child of a local rancher. She was seven. Should I go on?"

"There's more?" Billings gasped.

"From what the sheriff of Rawlins was able to uncover, there's a trail of bodies that leads back to Virginia," Teaspoon revealed.

His last words turned every eye in the room on the Kid.

"How did he choose his victims, Mr. Spoon?" Emma asked, a faint quiver in her voice.

"He robbed, a few banks here and there, but mainly general stores. They weren't guarded and it wasn't just money he was after. Each time, he'd take a hostage and a wagon. They'd find both a few miles out of town. Tracks from a single horse led away from the scene. A posse would follow for a while, but always lost the trail."

"And the victims?" Emma prodded.

"Dead."

"Were they . . ." Emma swallowed unable to continue.

Teaspoon nodded, understanding her unasked question, "Yes, even the little boy."

"My God," Emma whispered.

Crossing to the judge's side, Lawson peered over his shoulder studying the wanted poster, "You don't really expect us to believe this monstrous tale?"

"Why would I lie?" Teaspoon asked.

"That's obvious," Lawson sneered, pointing to the Kid, "to save that boy's life." 

"Teaspoon Hunter would break the boy out of jail before he'd tell a story like this," Judge Billings confidently stated.

"You could always go down and talk to Sheriff Barnes, yourself," Teaspoon suggested, huffing indignantly.

From the moment Teaspoon started his story, Sam's eyes had never left his prisoner's face. There had been no surprise, no sign of shock at the revelations. "You knew, didn't ya, Kid?" Sam whispered. "You killed Winslow to save Emma or Lou's life."

Lawson snorted, "So now, instead of being a back-shooter, you're trying to make him out to be a hero."

"How did you know, Kid?" Lou asked, her smooth brow creased in puzzlement. "How did you know what Winslow was going to do?"

"We haven't established that Winslow was going to do anything," Lawson protested.

A dirty finger tapped the wanted poster, "You haven't," Teaspoon emphasized, "but we have. Still, Lou's got a point. How did you know, Kid?" 

The boy shifted, uncomfortable as all eyes rested on him. Putting a hand on the Kid's shoulder in encouragement, Sam was surprised to feel the flesh beneath his shudder. The only time he'd seen the Kid this upset was when Katy had been wounded.

In a voice barely loud enough to be heard, the Kid finally admitted, "I was with the posse when they found the first victim."

"That was over eight years ago, Kid," Teaspoon observed, mentally checking the dates. "You couldna been more 'an ten. They'd never let someone so young join a posse."

Ducking his head, the Kid finally admitted, "The man you know as Winslow was my uncle. His first victim was my cousin, his daughter. Knowin' 'im so well, they thought I might be able to help 'em find him." The Kid raised his eyes to meet the prosecutor's, "I vowed then that if I ever ran across him again, I'd kill him. I think you'd call that pre-meditated murder."

"I'd call it justice," Teaspoon contradicted.

Exasperated, Lawson cried, "You still got no proof."

Ike frantically tapped Teaspoon on the shoulder. His hands moved so fast the older man had to look to Buck for a translation.

"The horse," Buck said, verbalizing the symbols. "If Winslow leaves a horse outside of town for a fast getaway, then there's a horse somewhere out there that ain't had food or water for five days."

"Oh, no," Emma gasped.

"I'll get a search party organized," Sam said, heading for the door.

"Marshal," Lawson growled, grabbing his arm, "aren't you forgetting your prisoner?"

"The Kid won't go nowhere."

"He's a murderer."

"Only in your eyes."

"Seems ta me," Teaspoon interrupted the heated exchange, "that horse is the proof you been lookin' for."

Dropping his hand, Lawson turned a puzzled frown on the other man, "How so?"

"Won't be no horse if Winslow's innocent."

"How do I know you didn't plant a horse?"

Teaspoon drew back, insulted, "I couldn't leave an animal to suffer like that."

"Not even to save the boy from hanging?"

"Not even then. You don't know much 'bout the Pony Express, Mr. Lawson if you don't know that horses are our life. We take care of them, cause they take care of us."

"I know that's true, Teaspoon," Billings said, his eyes resting on Lawson. "If you find that horse, Marshal, I'll set the boy free and consider he did this town a service."

Sam practically ran from the small office. He had to find that horse. Not just because it would set the Kid free, but because he couldn't stomach the fact that the poor animal was slowly starving to death. No creature deserved such a horrible fate. The more he learned about the man, the more, Sam decided, Winslow had gotten off easy.

***

Sam leaned back in his chair and viewed the empty cells with satisfaction. His smile turned to a frown as the image of an emaciated horse invaded his thoughts. If Winslow hadn't already been dead, Sam would gladly have shot the irresponsible man himself.

It had taken the search party four hours to find the concealed mare. Tied securely to a rocky out cropping there had been no food or water within reach of the starving animal. Nor, evidence that there ever had been. If it'd been summer, she would've been dead. Sam couldn't believe anyone could be so heartless. If Teaspoon hadn't gone to Rawlins to learn the truth, they never would've know the poor creature was out there. She would've died a horrible lingering death.

With the horse, they'd also discovered the new saddle bought at Tompkins store, and a carpet bag full of new clothes and other valuables. This had been enough to convince the Judge and Lawson that the tale Teaspoon had been told was true. The Kid had been set free. Sam wasn't entirely sure the boy was grateful. How must he feel having been forced to kill his own uncle to save Emma or Lou?

Almost as soon as the orphans had stepped foot on her ranch, Emma had called them her boys. Sometime, in the last few months, Sam realized they'd become his boys too. He knew, without hesitation, that he would forfeit his own life before he'd take one of theirs. As far as they were concerned, he'd lost his objectivity. There was no question that it changed the way he looked at his job. Maybe, it was time for him to resign - or leave?

"Marshal?"

Lost in thought, Sam hadn't heard Tompkins enter the office. The realization scared him. It could easily have been someone out to even a score. His heat beating so fast it made him breathless, Sam demanded, "What do ya want, Tompkins?"

"I was jus' over at the saloon havin' a few drinks," the older man hesitantly explained.

"There's no law against that," Sam impatiently observed.

Unruffled by the officer's disagreeable mood, Tompkins persisted, "Wyatt and Wilkins were there too. In fact, I think they'd been there all day."

"No law against that neither."

"They're pretty mad 'bout the Kid gettin' off fer killin' that man."

"No surprise there." Sam indifferently stated.

Exasperated that he wasn't being taken seriously, Tompkins snapped, "They were complain' that justice hasn't been served. That maybe they should be the ones to serve it."

Sam sat up, "Yer talkin' 'bout vigilantism."

"Not me," Tompkins hastily reminded him, "Wyatt and Wilkins."

Interested now, Sam urged, "What else did they say?"

"They didn't say nothin'. They jus' left."

Rising, Sam strapped on his holster, "Maybe I better check and see that they got home safely."

"They didn't go home." Shifting his feet, Tompkins looked down at the floor.

His raised to the heavens, Sam pressed, "Where did they go?"

"I'm not sure."

"But you have an idea?"

"I think," Tompkins emphasized, "they may have gone lookin' for the Kid."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Sam demanded, putting on his hat. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he headed out the door.

***

Emma placed a plate of biscuits on the table. The aroma from the fresh baked bread wafted across the table. Lou didn't even seem to notice. Sad brown eyes stared blindly at her plate. The fork poised over her food was still clean. Squaring her shoulders, Emma untied her apron. Folding it neatly, she set it next to the oven.

Straining to reach one of the biscuits, Cody asked, "Where ya goin', Emma?"

"I got somethin' that needs doin," the young woman growled.

Stepping outside, Emma paused to gaze in awe and contentment at the blazing sky. Her mind silently recited an old prophecy she'd learned on her father's knee; red sky at night, sheppard's delight. Red sky in the morning, sheppard takes warning. If this was true, it would be a beautiful day tomorrow.

The lateness of the hour reminded Emma that she didn't have much time. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she strolled briskly to the barn. The shadow from the tall structure almost reached the bunkhouse. Practically invisible in the gloom were the darker forms that represented the Kid and his horse. Though weak and undernourished after his ordeal, he'd insisted on making his own run. Since all the boys were tired, Teaspoon hadn't argued. One look at the older man's face had told Emma it would be futile to try and change his mind.

"You shoulda worn a coat, Emma," the Kid softly admonished. "It's gettin' cold out here. You best get back inside 'fore you catch yer death."

"Not before I say what I come ta say," Emma said, folding her arms across her chest

"Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait 'til I get back."

Emma shook her head, "No, it can't. Lou ain't spoke much, nor ate much, since the trial yesterday. Don't ya think its time ya forgave her?"

"Forgive her for what?" the Kid's puzzled voice demanded.

The question acted as fuel to Emma's smoldering temper, "You know what for. For testifying against you."

"Why would she think I'd be mad at her for that?" the Kid innocently asked. "She was only tellin' what she saw. Ya can't be mad at someone for tellin' the truth."

Her indignation keeping her warm, Emma scolded, "Then why didn't you tell her you weren't mad at her?"

"I didn't know she thought I was."

"I thought you were," Emma almost screamed at him. "Ya ain't said two words since the trial." Her voice softening almost to a whisper, she probed, "Is it because Winslow was your uncle?"

Turning away, the Kid's hands fumbled to tighten his cinch, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Heartbroken by the note of despair in the trembling voice, Emma gently pressed, "How did you know what Winslow was going to do?"

"I already told you how I knew."

Even as the proud head shook in denial, the pale face reflected an inner pain. A sob caught in Emma's throat, "Did Winslow . . ."

"He hurt me," the Kid softly finished.

Remembering the fate of the other victims, Emma gratefully pointed out, "You survived."

"Thanks to Jed. He weren't much more than a boy himself. He told Uncle he would kill him if he ever laid hands on me again."

"I almost wish Jed had killed him," Emma whispered, shivering. Her reaction wasn't caused by the cool breeze that blew across her shoulders.

"So do I," the Kid agreed. A trembling hand gently stroked his horse's neck. "A month later, he claimed his first victim. Sarah was eight. Only a few months older than I was."

Salty tears stung Emma's eyes as she searched for words that would convey her feelings. Childhood should be filled with fun and laughter. Not the horror this boy had endured.

"Yippee!"

As Hickok announced his arrival, the Kid swung into the saddle, "I gotta go."

Hastily stepping out of his way, Emma watched as the pouch changed hands. Partially running after the departing rider, she shouted, "We'll talk when you get back."

She wasn't sure if he heard her. As the reflection of the pale face danced before her eyes, she was relieved that the Kid wasn't riding Katy. If he had, she had a feeling he wouldn't be coming back.

***

Sam leaned low over his horse's neck. One hand clung tightly to his saddle horn. The darkness hid many things. If they stumbled, he couldn't afford to get thrown. Right now, he was the only chance the Kid had to stay alive.

Light shone up ahead. Sam closed his eyes in gratitude. Pulling up in front of the bunkhouse, he threw himself from the saddle. Stumbling up the stairs onto the porch, he flung the door open and stepped inside, "Where's the Kid?"

"Out on a run," Teaspoon calmly informed him. "What's the matter? Yer all horns and rattles."

"Wyatt and Wilkins weren't happy with the Judge's verdict," Sam breathlessly explained. "According to Tompkins, they're gonna take the law into their own hands . . ."

". . . and do what?" Lou impatiently interrupted.

Compassionate eyes resting on the young boy, Sam revealed, "They're plannin' to hang the Kid."

"Saddle up some horses, boys," Teaspoon ordered, rising from the table.

Grabbing his hat, Cody pointed out, "There are two routes between here and Split Rock station. Which one would the Kid take?"

"He always takes the river trail," Lou confidently stated, strapping on her holster.

"If you're wrong," Hickock snapped, slipping on his coat, "it could cost the Kid his life."

Lou bit her lip. Finally shaking her head, she said, "I'm not wrong."

When the boys and Teaspoon rushed out of the bunkhouse, Sam turned to follow. A hand on his arm pulled him up.

A flour coated finger impatiently brushing a tear from the corner of her eye, Emma pleaded, "Ya gotta find the Kid, Sam."

"I intend to," Sam reassured her.

"You don't understand." Avoiding his eyes, Emma admitted, "The Kid's hurtin' inside. He doesn't think he deserves to live."

"That's crazy!"

"I can't tell you how I know," Emma stuttered, "but I don't think he'll fight for his life."

Wondering what could make a boy feel so worthless, Sam wiped the flour from her face, "We'll find him."

By the time Sam had given his horse a drink of water, the others were ready. Though he was a good tracker, Sam knew that Buck was better. Now, all they had to do was hope that Lou knew the Kid was well as he thought. Sam had briefly considered sending Teaspoon and some of the boys down the other trail, just to be on the safe side. He quickly changed his mind. He wanted to avoid bloodshed. Wyatt and Wilkins respected his badge, even if they had no love for Cain himself. That difference could keep a gun in its holster and save lives. As badly as he wanted to help the Kid, Sam wasn't willing to risk anyone's life except his own, to accomplish that task.

***

The Kid held his hand over his mouth, hoping to keep the scream inside. Though there was no one to hear, he knew he couldn't let himself go. It would only make it that much harder to regain control.

The memories had been buried for so long, he'd almost come to believe that he hadn't been that boy fondled by a favorite uncle. It had been somebody else. The Kid shivered at the remembered sensation of a callused hand caressing his flesh. Though he'd fought, his uncle's other hand had covered his nose and mouth, making it difficult for him to breath and muffling his screams of pain and mortification.

Until now, the only other person who knew what had happened to him had been Jed. When his brother died, he'd thought his secret had died with him. So, how had Emma known? Could he face her again? After delivering the mail, he was tempted to just keep on going and not look back. Disappointed, he realized he couldn't, not without Katy and not without telling Lou he forgave her for testifying against him. Until Emma had pointed it out, he hadn't seen Lou's pain, he'd been buried too deep in his own. He loved Lou too much to let her continue to feel guilty. Somehow, he had to make her understand that he wasn't good enough for her. She deserved better. Then, he would be free to leave.

The sound of water lapping against rocks made him refocus his attention. He was approaching the river. Easing back on the reins, he slowed his mount. For a brief second, he thought he saw a shadow on the other bank. Dismissing the illusion as a figment from his painful past, he pulled his horse down to a walk.

By the light of the half-moon, he followed the path to the water's edge. Kicking the reluctant gelding forward, they edged down the steep bank. Runoff from the mountains had swollen the river to a dangerous level. With no other choice, the Kid gripped the saddle horn as his horse picked its way across the cold stream. Mid-way, the Kid found himself floating. The hand on the horn trembled with the cold. This tenuous hold was all that prevented him from being swept away.

A sign of relief escaped quivering lips when he finally felt solid ground beneath the horse's hooves. His grip on the saddle horn remained firm as he waited for the gelding to shake off the excess water. Though he thought he was prepared for anything, he was startled when a hand reached out and grabbed his bridle. His reaction slowed by his emergence in the cold water, he reached for his gun.

"That's far enough," a voice warned from behind.

The man holding his bridle giggled, "Didn't I tell you it would be easy to catch him here, Wilkie."

"You told me," Wilkins wryly agreed.

The Kid recognized the voices as belonging to John Wyatt and Jasper Wilkins. Recognition, however, didn't provide an explanation for what they were doing. "Stand aside," he ordered, "I got mail to deliver."

A high-pitched giggle greeted his command. "Did ya hear that Wilkie? This back-shooter is givin' us orders. I think he needs ta learn a little respect."

Before the Kid could defend himself, he was pulled from the saddle. He hit the ground hard on his left arm. He heard as well as felt a bone crack in his wrist. A moan escaped his lips.

"Aw, did I hurt ya?" Wyatt whined. Grabbing the Kid's coat, he pulled the injured boy to his feet. "Don't worry, it won't hurt for long."

Protectively shielding his arm, the Kid found himself being dragged along in Wyatt's wake. Nauseous and dizzy, he stumbled and fell to his knees.

Tapping the broken arm with the barrel of his gun, Wyatt warned, "Keep up, or you'll have more 'an a broken arm."

Bile rose in the Kid's throat as he fought to regain his feet. They scrambled through the darkness toward the soft glow of a light. They eventually emerged in a clearing where a large fire blazed dangerously close to a tall tree. The fierce heat warmed the Kid's chilled body, until he noticed a noose hanging from one of the branches. The Kid didn't need to be told what was coming. He felt strangely dispassionate about his imminent demise. When he squeezed the trigger that propelled the bullet into his uncle's back, he'd known this would be his fate. Teaspoon's reprieve had served only to make him feel guiltier. Now, he would get what he deserved.

"Since justice don't seem ta matter none to the law," Wyatt said, waving a hand at the noose, "we've decided the law don't matter none."

"Ya got any last words?" Wilkins asked, untying his horse and leading it to a spot directly beneath the rope.

The Kid shook his head. 

"Then let's get on with it," Wyatt cheerfully crowed, slapping his thigh. "This sure is gonna be somethin'."

"Should we tie his hands behind his back?" Wilkins asked.

"Nah, he done broke his arm when he fell off his horse. It's useless."

"Then bring 'im over."

Together, the two men managed to lift their victim up into the saddle. Though he didn't do anything to assist, the Kid didn't resist either. He was mildly surprised at his own antipathy. Even when the noose was dropped over his head and pulled tight against his neck, he didn't struggle. Instead, he looked up at the moon. He wanted it to be the last thing he saw in this life. Many stolen kisses were enjoyed by its light. It made him feel closer to Lou.

A hand slapped against the horse's croup. The sound echoed loudly on the night air.

The Kid felt the animal jump in surprise before it jerked out from under him. The rope grew taut biting into his neck, cutting off his air. A sudden desire to live gripped him. He tried to push his good hand between his throat and the rope to relieve the pressure, but his own flesh had wrapped around the noose acting as a protective cocoon. Stars danced in front of his eyes blotting out the moon. His tongue swelled, filling his mouth, choking him.

Shouts of rage and anger rent the air. Though it didn't seem possible, the Kid thought he recognized Sam's voice. He knew it could only be an auditory illusion brought on by lack of air and a desire to live. Shots rang out dispelling his theory. He felt himself falling. The heels of his boots struck the ground. Unable to support him, his numb legs collapsed. He fell on his side crushing his broken arm beneath him. Worried faces blurrily danced at the edge of his vision. He smiled as they accompanied him into a dark hole.

***

Sam looked down at the new headstones. Picking up a stone laying on one of the fresh mounds of earth, he angrily threw it over the cemetary fence. Dust kicked up where it finally landed fence.

"Did that help?" Teaspoon asked, leaning against the post that marked the entrance to the burial ground.

"Not much," Sam wearily admitted. Shaking his head, he whispered, "They were just boys, Teaspoon."

"They stopped being boys when they became vigilantes. They almost killed the Kid."

"I know." Sam turned his gaze on the grave at his feet. "Even in death Winslow continues to kill. When will it stop?"

"Winslow didn't kill Wyatt and Wilkins. Jealousy and envy killed them. The very traits that made them unsuitable to be express riders," Teaspoon thoughtfully admitted.

"I shoulda seen it comin'," Sam berated himself. "Maybe they'd still be alive."

The toe of his boot digging a hole in the hard ground, Teaspoon shook his head, "Ya can no more stop a man who's bent on revenge than ya can stop a buffalo herd from stampedin'."

"Maybe if I'd . . ."

"Don't start second guessin' yerself," Teaspoon harshly ordered. Crossing the short distance that separated them, he put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Yer a good man, Sam Cain. You care. Maybe too much for a man in your profession. You're also human, and you'll make mistakes. Learn from them, but don't let them bring you down. A conscience can be a painful thing for a lawman. You use it. Don't let it use you. The West needs men like you if it's to be civilized."

A deep sigh whispered past Sam's lips as he lifted his head. His eyes instinctively studied the waking town. "How's the Kid?" 

"Doc says there's no permanent damage." Teaspoon fell into step with his friend as they slowly walked out of the cemetery.

"Think he'll ever tell us his uncle's real name?" Sam inquired, gesturing back to the grave they'd just left.

"I doubt it," Teaspoon admitted. "Knowin' his name won't change what he done."

"It may let him rest in peace."

"Why should he have somethin' his victims don't?"

***

Wiping her wet hands on her apron, Emma peeked out the window. If she squinted, she could barely make out Kid and Lou's outlines in the shadow of the barn. Worry creased her brow. Could the young couple salvage the wreck of their love in the wake of what had happened? Or, would that love become a victim too?

The thought had no more than entered her head, when she saw Lou rise up on her toes and kiss the Kid on the cheek. A smile lighting her face, she raced to the horse waiting to carry her to the next station.

Cody yelled with glee as he threw her the pouch, "Have a good ride, Lou."

Emma waited until the dust had settled before leaving the bunkhouse and crossing to the Kid's side. Leaning against the corral, she said, "Aren't ya glad ya didn't leave?"

Shock flushed the bruised face, "How did you know I was gonna leave?"

"I saw it in your eyes. I was glad ya weren't ridin' Katy. I knew you wouldn't leave without her."

"I didn't think I should stay." The Kid dropped his head in shame. "Not after what I done."

"Kid," Emma gently lifted his head until she met his eyes, "you didn't do anything wrong. You're not to blame for what yer uncle done."

"If I'd told someone, maybe he would've been stopped before he killed."

"You were ten years old, Kid. No one would've believed you." Shaking her head, Emma admitted, "Even after readin' all the evidence Mr. Spoon brought back from Rawlins, I still find it hard to believe."

His gaze shifting to the bunkhouse, the Kid asked, "Do you think the others would mind if I stayed?"

"I think they'd wonder why if you don't," Emma pointed out. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she gently squeezed, "Families don't need to know everythin' about each other. You don't have to tell them what your uncle did to you, unless you want to."

His face flushing a bright red, the Kid admitted, "I'd rather they didn't know."

"I understand," Emma nodded. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks, Emma."

"Hey, Kid," Cody yelled, "can ya give me a hand?"

Lifting the arm encased in a white sling, the Kid replied, "I've only got one."

"One's all I need."

Emma smiled as she watched the Kid saunter over to join Cody. The memories would still be there to haunt him. But with the help of his family, he'd get through it.


End file.
